


a well made machine

by nothingbutregret



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arranged Marriage, Humiliation, M/M, Public Sex, Spanking, dubcon, no no yes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23889901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingbutregret/pseuds/nothingbutregret
Summary: an arranged marriage between two people who have for sure definitely never met before
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 11
Kudos: 109
Collections: Id Pro Quo 2020





	a well made machine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yen/gifts).



> horny rights dude

“Congratulations.” 

The congratulations had followed an unbelievably long speech given to him by a very gruff solider who was still in full plate despite the fact that Killian had invited him inside. Half way through the speech, Killian had managed to sit down, and then stand back up and pour himself an ale, and now, sitting back down and wondering if he should get himself another one. 

“I don't understand.” He says, because he doesn't. “My mother died when I was four.” 

He remembers, vaguely, sitting at her bed side and crying. Sickness, like a lot of people at the time, and she had left him all to his lonesome. Well, with her brother, who had died of a different sickness four years after that. A brief stint of homelessness before he got taken in by the carpenter, mostly out of pity. The carpenter's daughter also passed, the same sickness as Killian's uncle, and had left the carpenter with a free room and empty nest syndrome. 

It was a simple life, but he couldn't complain, especially considering the metal smith had taken a shine to him and his ability to work both wood and metal made him highly desired, both monetarily and romantically. 

And now, at the ripe young age of twenty four, apparently, Killian was about to come into an exorbitant amount of wealth because the King suddenly remembered that maybe he had fucked Killian's mom. 

“And- what- I'm getting paid blood money for-” 

“No, sir. His majesty would like to meet you first before any sums can be exchanged.” 

“And the congratulations was for-” 

“The news.” 

“Hm.” He had decided on the second ale after all, and inquired if the knight would like any as well. No, turns out the knight didn't drink. Fair enough. It was a ridiculous situation, it really was. It's not like he really wanted for a lot. “Sure.” 

It was something to do, for the weekend at least. 

…

Aremias crossed his arms and definitely for sure didn't pout like a child. 

“I don't want to.” 

“I don't care.” His mother said, arms crossed as well. “This is nonnegotiable, do you understand? It's this or prison.” 

“This will basically be like prison anyway!” He shouts, indignantly. Maturely. Justifiably. 

“For you!” She shouts. “Do you want me in jail? Your sisters in jail? How do you imagine they're going to treat us there?” 

“How do you imagine they're going to treat ME THERE?” 

The problem, as it were, were his father's exorbitant gambling debts. At first they moved out of their ancestral manor, which was bad enough but it was tolerable. Then Aremias had to be withdrawn from university, just two years into his education. Then his sisters were pulled out of finishing school. They started scraping by anything they could- Anything they could. After a certain incident that involved Aremias trying to steal something that he was loath to remember, they were on such thin ice that his father had willingly gone to jail. 

“Sometimes we have to think of bigger things. Sometimes we have to care about other people.” 

“But-” His throat burned. “I don't want to be just forced into some stupid marriage with some stupid idiot who-” 

“A prince! The prince!” His mother threw up her hands. “You're whining as if you're going to be forced to marry some pig farmer- this is good royal stock. Even if they treat you poorly, you will be treated poorly in a palace. There are better places to cry than a leaky apartment. That's final. That is Final.” 

Aremias keeps his mouth shut because his mother is maybe crying. 

And that's not something that he could emotionally handle right now. 

Her shoulders shake and he turns away. 

“Fine.”

Whatever. 

…

“Your highness-” 

“Dad, lad. Or father. Or Papa, if you like.” 

“Ah, yes. Father.” Killian stares at the golden filigree along the edge of the vase stand? Maybe? He couldn't begin to imagine what other purpose this weird thing could serve. “I understand the uh. Need for a linage but why rush.” 

There's so much expensive shit in his new quarters. It's legitimately astonishing how much useless gold and jewels are on everything. What's the point? When he worked on a piece, his aesthetics were always minimal so that the person spending their money could actually see what they paid for, instead of slathering something in shiny. 

“Ah, you see, my boy. I waited a rather long while, and the Queen, bless her heart, was a little late along. Your mother was a blessing, in her own way.” Your cheating, he wants to say, but doesn't. He's not stupid. “He's a respectable lad, this one. Good stock, actually went to university, would you believe.”

“Didn't know they let omegas into university.” 

“Oh, it's not all so dire. Maybe out in your backwoods things are still a bit old fashioned but the closer you get to our new shared home, hmm, sunshine and rainbows.” 

“And he... wants to marry me?” 

“Who can say. We don't put them up in stocks or anything but it's still the natural order of things. Besides, who in their right mind wouldn't want to marry such a strapping prince as yourself. I've seen him before, he's quite pretty.” 

“Aren't all omegas pretty?” 

“You would think, but-” The king, his father, Killian guesses, trails on and on. 

All he has to do is knock him up. He feels like that's firmly within his wheel house. He feels like he could probably do that. 

How hard can it be. 

…

“You!” Aremias yelps, taking a step back and almost tripping back into the carriage. 

“Oh.” The Alpha, the Prince, the Whatever has the gall to look from the King and then back to him as if he doesn't even remember- wait actually maybe it's better if he doesn't- Aremias' face already warming up at just the vaguest memory. “You.” 

Oh- Oh no. Oh no, that's definitely a look of recognition. 

“Are you already familiar with each other?” The king leans over, half his body craning, staring up at his son's face. 

It's probably not very convincing when they both say no at the exact same time. 

…

The certain incident Aremias is loath to remember just so happened to take place in a backwoods shit hole about a week's ride from his university, chosen specifically for the potential eventuality that something could go wrong. 

Which it did, by the way. It went wrong in just about every conceivable way. 

There was this artisan, who probably only got as famous as he did because he was in the middle of fucking no where, some minimalist who made one of a kind furniture. Aremias knew about him only because his old roommate's mother was over the moon with some dining table he had made her. Aremias had seen it. 

It was absolutely nothing special. 

But still, he thought he could drop by, flash his name and some fake money, and fleece this idiot for all that he was worth. 

And when the idiot turned out to be stupid enough to not even know Aremias' name or legacy or anything at all, Aremias had decided on some basic good old fashioned robbery. 

Which. 

Was probably a bad idea. 

Considering he's never robbed anyone before.

Safe to say he's not going to be turning into a career criminal any time soon. 

The idiot grabbed him and yanked him into the street, all the way to the jail. Aremias did try to fight back, but Idiot was a built alpha who hauled wood and metal around all day and Aremias was an omega university student studying magic theory. 

Not practical magic, because that was for brutes. Theory. Math. Beautiful cosmic symmetry. 

He probably should have sat in on a fireball lecture at least once though. Maybe this wouldn't have happened to him. 

He was fully crying in front of the jailer, because newsflash, he'd never been in a jail before. He was aristocracy, neck deep in gambling debts or not, and he was clearly being manhandled and everything was extremely distressing. Clearly. 

They probably both took pity on him, considering a man in the other cell was missing his- 

Aremias wasn't going to dwell. 

Five hours in the stocks, and then send him on his way, the jailer had told the Idiot. 

“Sure.” The idiot had said. “I guess I'll go round some boys up.” 

And then he was standing naked, a sign dangling around his neck, hands in the stocks, stuck at an awkward angle. He hadn't stopped crying, but now it was more at the absurdity of the situation than anything else. 

At least no one was ever going to find out about this. 

He yelps when there's a hand on his side, rough against his pristine skin. Idiot squats down beside him so that they're eye level. 

“Ever been fucked before?” 

Aremias shakes his head. 

The idiot just rubs his temples. 

“You gotta learn theft's wrong.” 

“I know it's wrong.” 

“Then why did you try to-” 

“Listen-” He hiccups- “Can't we- Can't we figure anything else out.” 

“Not at this point.” Rough hand pats his side again. “Just how we handle things out here. You're getting off easy, all things considered.” 

“Easy?!” 

“Most omegas get left up for a week. Crime rate's pretty low. People get bored.” There's a shrug. “You'll get spanked and fucked and be sent free to go. Considering you're virginal and all-” Aremias hiccups again. “You probably won't get knocked up.” 

“Please-” 

“You in heat?” 

He shakes his head. There are definitely people starting to gather around, he can feel their eyes on him. 

“Then relax. Try to, I don't know. Enjoy it or whatever.” 

Idiot has a nice face. His hands are covered in burns but they're big and the one still on side is warm. 

“I don't see how I can.” 

“Then don't.” The idiot gets up. 

Aremias thinks his knees creek as he does. 

“How may swats?” He asks and before Aremias asks what the fuck he's talking about the crowd starts shouting out numbers, jeering. Someone yells something about making him cry even harder, and someone else on the other side of the crowd yells that 'the little thief is getting what's coming to him'. 

He's not that small. Maybe next to this massive muscular jerk off he is but- He's taller than one of his sisters! It's not that dire! 

The first time he gets spanked it jolts him out of his mind completely. It's hot and sharp pain that shoots up his spine instantly. He squirms, staring down at the wood of the platform. His face is on fire too, and he always blushes in weird blotchy patterns all the way up his chest. 

The second hit gives the crowd much the same response which they seem overjoyed at. 

“You hear them?” Idiot calls over, before spanking him again. It's worse, now that it's already over a spot he's hit before. “They like your ass red. Who can blame them though. You have such a nice one.” 

Aremias bites his lip to keep from yelling when the man grabs at his ass and squeezes. The crowd is filled with whistles and Aremias wants nothing more than to just fade into the floor. 

Later, when he's alone at home months down the line he imagines that voice whispering things in his ear. He doesn't dwell on that either. 

The man keeps spanking his ass, little light swats suddenly replaced with heavy hits that make him jolt in his place and try and squirm away. No one seems to be getting bored either- their eyes just keep barring down on him. His ass is grabbed again, fingers sinking into the thick flesh, fingers brushing against his thighs, dangerously close to-

“Oh, you like that?” 

Aremias' eyes fly open. 

“No!” 

“Why you dripping then, pretty boy?” 

God, was he- was he actually- 

He gets spanked again, letting out a yelp for the three in rapid succession, before the man grabs his cheeks and spreads them, showing his hole to the crowd. The stares are mortifying. There's a brief moment of absolute silence before everyone is shouting again, calling him a whore and a slut. 

He is getting wet, is the worst part- his dick stirs when he can see a few drops of his slick on the ground. The hands on him are rough now, pinching and needing before he gets a spank right over his hole and that makes him squeal. 

“What do you say?” 

“What-” 

“What do you say to get your needy ass stuffed?” 

He feels like he's going to boil right off of the face of the earth, but then the hands spreading him open brush along his rim much gently then they have been and Aremias drops his head. 

“Please-” He whispers and the man laughs. 

“What was that? Don't think everyone heard you. You want to get fucked don't you? Need it?” 

“Please-' He tries to clear his throat but that's hard enough to do with the tears and the snot and the general humiliation- “Fuck me-” 

“Yeah?” Another swat that makes him jump- he's gone so long with out. 

“Fuck me!” He says and it sounds like his voice breaks mid sentence and that really gets the crowd going, shouts of 'rail him' and 'break his ass' echo through the plaza. And it seems like all the direction this fucking moron needs because Aremias feels something hot and wet on his hole, along with the thumb that slowly pushes passed his rim- “Fuck-' 

“You?” He asks, teasing, and then shoves into him. “Gladly.” 

He's big- and Aremias' eyes must roll back into his head- big and hot and breakneck in an instant, fucking into him so hard Aremias sees sparks. The crowd practically fades away and its just him, getting absolutely plowed- like the only thing that matters anymore is the dick in his ass and the occasional sharp stings of pain when his partner's hips connect to his burning ass and thighs. 

He's hard too- hard and dripping down his thighs. 

“You're sweet-” Idiot hisses right into his ear, breath hot. It makes him shiver. “Sure you're a virgin?” 

“Yeah-” He whispers, barely capable of getting the word out before a moan completely overtakes him. “I was-” 

“And all this-” A sharp squeeze of his ass, it makes his squeeze down on the cock inside of him. “Just for me-” 

“Just for you-” He babbles- it's somehow clear to him in the moment that his dick isn't going to be touched but that he absolutely doesn't care- something coils tight in his belly, his toes curl against the platform and he comes, orgasm like a gut punch. He's never had one this hard before, even when he played with toys, he's never squirted before either- skin on skin sounding wet all of a sudden. 

His head is blank, totally empty, and he can hear distant fading laughter- 

He barely remembers just how full he felt when he popped his knot in him.

…

“It's traditional, to make your wife a gift and- well.” 

Killian presents it awkwardly, somewhere between leaning on the table and trying to have his arms crossed. Aremias- that's his wife's name- sits at his boudoir, busying himself with drawing sigils on his legs. 

“The wedding was four days ago. Little late, isn't it?” 

“Ah- I wanted to get it right. So that you would have something to uh.” He swallows. “Keep you company while I'm gone.” 

“Pervert.” He hisses and Killian glances anywhere else. “What is it.” He does sound curious- or maybe angry- Killian still can't really tell. He gestures at the box, at the paddle attached to it and the small mechanism inside it. Aremias does look over to it for a good long while before his face goes unbelievably red- all the way up to his ears. 

“You seemed to like it when I-” 

“Shut up.” 

“The first time we-” 

“Yes, I know, shut up.” 

“And I thought you were too proper to ask me to-” 

Aremias flings a small pot of powder at his head that Killian just barely manages to duck out of. 

“I'm not going to use your stupid-” He buries his face in his hands- “Spank box-” A groan that Killian has learned is embarrassed arousal- he's so cute- “By myself.” 

“You can use it with me too.” 

It's a tube of lipstick this time, and it does nail him square in the forehead. 

**Author's Note:**

> comments always appreciated


End file.
